


As the Key Turns

by treefrogie84



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas doesn't go to the Empty, Crowley comes back, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Nearly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Nearly Human Crowley (Supernatural), POV Crowley (Supernatural), post-15.18, pre-Dean/Cas/Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: The explosion rolls over the void, wakingeveryone. Crowley fights against the drugging effects of the entity that rules this place, his curiosity awake and prodding him into investigating.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 40
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	As the Key Turns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MyOwlWearsGlasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwlWearsGlasses/gifts).



> Idea spawned by MyOwlWearsGlasses on the [Season 14 Time for a Podcast](https://www.stitcher.com/show/season-14-time-for-a-podcast) discord server, when they mentioned, “Maybe he [Crowley] snuck out of the Empty when Cas was escaping. THAT’S a fic I’d read.” I'm not sure this is what they had in mind (it's not what I had in mind), but it's what came out, so... ['house cat presenting a fresh kill' face].
> 
> No beta, we die like immortals

He wakes, confused, while the noise is still rolling across the black plain of nothingness. All around him, other entities— people— wake up too, the explosion just the first harbinger of the rising chatter that follows. Confused angels and demons struggling to understand who and where they are. No one has ever come back from this after all

He’s barely aware of who he is, but he knows, with all the certainty he has available, that this is a limited time opportunity. If he wants to take advantage of it, he needs to move _now_.

Pushing himself to his feet— or what passes for them, metaphysics are weird— he moves quickly through the slowly gathering crowd. He doesn’t have a destination besides away, but that’s good enough for right now.

The clamor behind him peaks and then starts to quiet again, an irritated wind forcing most of those who are awake back to sleep. It brushes Crowley, a cold remembrance of sleep and Lethe. He sets his shoulders against it, ignoring how it seeps through every stitch and seam, drags at him. He doesn’t remember much, yet, but he knows that lying down again will make sure he loses.

In the distance, barely audible, two figures argue over a third. He can’t understand what they’re saying, but their stances tell him everything he needs to know. No matter who wins, he’s not going to come out on top.

Better to wait and find a way out. Patience will get him further than anything else right now.

Billie disappears, leaving the kid and the vague blur behind. The blur leads the kid towards an area that’s already fallen back asleep, petting him gently until he settles. If Crowley squints, it kinda looks like Feathers, but also like Moose and Squirrel. _Interesting_.

* * *

Time passes. It’s impossible to tell how much in the lightless void, but some. Hours, perhaps days. He doesn’t think years, but time is strange even in the best of circumstances and these are not those.

The vague figure— with the kid asleep, it has no form at all— wanders for a bit before settling in one place. Crowley stays still, watching, thinking as quietly as possible about what his options are. Now that he’s awake, staying here is not much of an option, but how to get to somewhere with slightly more interesting happenings?

That won’t just toss him straight back to Hell, he means. He’s already dealt with those morons for one lifetime, he won’t do it again. Heaven is a no go for… obvious reasons. Which leaves him with Purgatory or Earth. Either of which should allow him to live (although Earth would probably be better— more Craig, less Leviathan— he can’t afford to be picky.)

The Entity jerks upright, oily ooze catching light from somewhere as it tears open a rift between plains and starts to inject itself into that other world.

Crowley is on his feet in an instant, making a mad dash for the exit. He collides with something— someone— as he passes through, tackling them backwards and into whatever disaster undoubtedly waits on the other side.

The rift boils shut behind them, leaving Crowley lying on top of Feathers… in the fucking dungeon again. For fuck’s sake. He just can’t win.

Dean pushes him aside roughly, pulling Cas into his arms and… oh. It’s about damn time _that_ happened. Clearly their first too, which means in however long, they’ve still managed to be complete dumbasses. Nothing ever gets done without his interference.

Rolling to his feet, Crowley brushes himself off, inspecting his new physical form for any defects. Much the same as his old meat suit… actually, he thinks it's an exact replica, which will certainly save him some time at the tailors’.

Dean’s phone starts ringing, buzzing around in a circle on the concrete floor. Glancing at Dean and Cas, still in a tight clench, kissing through their tears, Crowley rolls his eyes and scoops it up. “Moose, how are things?”

Sam is silent for a long moment, too long. “Where’s my brother? He and Cas—“

“Are quite busy. How can I help?”

Sam huffs, echoing along the phone line. “I… I don’t think you can.” He sounds defeated. “We were trying to save the hunters but…” he trails off again. “I— Have Dean call me.”

They’ve been friendly enemies to allies, but Crowley has never heard Sam sound like this. “Hold on, Jolly Green.” Stepping back into the dungeon, he impatiently kicks Dean’s boot, waiting until he twists around to at least look at him. “Yes, yes, you want me dead, I’m interrupting. However, Gigantor would like a word?”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly as he fumbles the phone. “Sammy? What—“ He pauses. “No, it wasn’t Billie. She’s— She’s dead. I think anyway, the Empty took her. Are you alright? And the kid? We’ll figure it out. Get back here.”

He climbs to his feet, pocketing the phone and reaching down to pull Cas to his feet as well. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“It would have been worth it to keep you safe.” Cas still looks shaken, but he’s settling back into himself.

“And you!” Dean takes a couple of quick steps, wrapping Crowley in a hug.

Crowley stands stock still, trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Dean mutters, almost too low to be heard. “Most of the assholes who have taken the throne since… You’re an asshole, but at least you’re _our_ asshole, ya know?”

No, he doesn’t know, and he’s starting to wonder if he ended up on the wrong Earth after all. Dean Winchester. Doing feelings. While sober.

Releasing Crowley, Dean takes a step back and looks between him and Cas. “Okay. Let’s get to work.”

* * *

Dean ends up having to go pick up Sam and the kid— Jack? Just how long was he gone anyway?— because they’re too shaken to drive safely, leaving him and Cas in the Bunker.

“It’s 2020, you’ve been gone for about three years, Jack is Kelly Kline’s son,” Cas blurts out in a rush. “Chuck is…”

“Chuck. Former prophet, sometime god?”

“He says that we’re all creations that he wrote into existence.” Cas’s face screws up, showing what he thinks of that pretty clearly. “And now he’s bored, so he’s destroying everything.”

“A temper tantrum. The Lord Our God. Is having a temper tantrum,” Crowley says flatly. “And where is Amara in all this?”

“Subsumed.” Cas pulls a loaf of bread out of a cabinet in the kitchen, followed by peanut butter and jelly. “We thought—“

“Caging him didn’t work? Or killing him?”

“Yes.” He sighs, frowning down at the stack of sandwiches he’s creating. “I don’t know what we’ll try next, everything we’ve done has ended up pointless or failed.”

Crowley nods, mind whirling as he tries to absorb that he’s been dead for three years and nothing appears to have changed. Nice to know that his death accomplished _nothing_.

Idly, he accepts a sandwich and sits at the table, slowly eating it. It would be better with something to drink— water, or maybe even a soda— but he doesn’t want to draw attention to him eating now that he’s noticed. Although Feathers is eating too, so maybe they’re both avoiding unfortunate situations.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“So how powerful is this Jack? If he’s supposed to be stronger than his sire…”

“Not strong enough. Not with Chuck pulling all the strings.” Cas shakes his head, tapping a finger on the table in what Crowley is sure is an unconscious imitation of Dean. “Everything we try, he can counter. It’s… infuriating.”

Crowley nods. “So we need to come up with something he can’t counter. Or see.”

They lapse into silence, thinking.

Crowley has never met an opponent he couldn’t best at their own game, but Chuck? Chuck might be the exception.

* * *

Dean pulls him into another hug when he gets back to the Bunker with Sam and a young man in tow. Crowley awkwardly pats his back, looking over to where Cas is waiting and hopes he doesn’t get smited for the presumption.

Cas doesn’t show any indication of even wanting to though, so Crowley lets himself enjoy it for a few moments before Dean releases him and takes a step back.

“Well, Sammy’s not addicted to demon blood anymore, and Cas isn’t comatose on my bed, so we’re a step above the last time things were this hopeless.” Dean shrugs, and looks around. “Anyone got any brilliant ideas?”

Crowley keeps his face impassive, watching Jack and wondering if he’s missing something. Because he knows that this was the last person (entity, multi-dimensional life form, soul) the Empty put to sleep. _After_ they argued with Billie. The kid might have Jack’s memories and personality, but… it’s not Jack.

(He doesn’t think it’s Chuck’s work either, so he doesn’t say anything. A final double cross between the Empty and Billie and the Winchesters more than likely, although he doesn’t know who wins. In any case, all three of the boys are far too attached to the kid for Crowley to risk saying anything at this point. Not without proof.)

“How do you kill a god?” Sam breathes out into the waiting silence.

“You don’t, as a rule. Not the big ones. It’s a complicated relationship between gods and their worshipers, but in general, if they still are receiving active worship, it is exceedingly difficult.” Cas tilts his head, thinking. “Of course, now that he’s… destroyed everyone who was worshiping him…”

“So assuming he’s forced to follow his own damn rules,” Dean’s jaw clenches, “he’s as weak as he’s ever going to be right now.”

“Can you snap everyone back?” Crowley forces himself to ask Jack, ignoring the creeping unease. It’s like what was oozing off Kelly Kline, a gentle sense emanation of ‘trust me.’ He doesn’t trust it at all, no matter the promises of peace and paradise. “If Chuck loses all his power, can you undo what he did?”

“I think so,” he says doubtfully. “It would be better if I could absorb some of that power.”

Crowley nods, thinking it through. He’s mortal now, and he’s almost certain that Cas is as well. Dean and Sam always have been… They can let this be someone else’s problem down the line, in several thousand years. Let the Empty enjoy their power.

“So how do we do that?” Sam asks, looking almost hopeful. “There has to be a way.”

“Let's find it then,” Jack says earnestly, so much so that Crowley starts to doubt what he knows to be true. Maybe he was just sleep addled, missing context in the void.

They settle down and get to work.

* * *

“If I look at one more worm-eaten tome, I’m going to go screaming out into the streets and beg Chuck to take me.” Dean slams the book in front of him shut and pushes away from the table. “I’m gotta get out here. Cas, Crowley? Beer run?”

“Yes, please,” Crowley agrees. “Feathers? Coming?”

They’ve been circumspect, he has to give them that, and he doesn’t think Sam or Jack have clued in on the big change, but eventually, they’re going to have to own up to the fact that Crowley has taken over the room set aside for Cas while Cas has moved into Dean’s room entirely. But that’s their business. Crowley just needs to know— knowledge, power, blackmail, etc— and he can leave them to their complicated and far to slow moving love affair.

The supermarket the next town over is a ghost town. They did some very basic clean up on the first shopping trip, pushing the half-filled carts out of the aisles, shoving the perishables back into the coolers, but nearly two weeks after Chuck snapped everyone out of existence, the level of waste is starting to rise. The power is still on— a minor miracle, Crowley is sure— but even with refrigeration, meat and vegetables go off. At least they’re not going to have to fight for supplies with the rats.

Dean and Cas head towards the beer and wine department with a shopping cart, leaving Crowley to his lonesome. Heaving a sigh, he grabs a cart of his own and tows it to the home goods and clothes— he doesn’t know why he was invited along if they’re just going to make out the entire trip, but he’s going to make use of the time. And that includes changing out of the utterly useless suit and tie. No one left in the world will be impressed by it, so why bother?

Cart loaded, he pushes it to the grocery half of the store to do the actual food shopping. Might as well minimize trips.

“There you are,” Dean says behind him while Crowley contemplates the differences between varieties of Cheerios. “Was wondering where you got to.”

“I assumed you and Angel wanted some private time. That is what you do on your ‘beer runs’ after all.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean’s shoulders lift into a half-hearted shrug. “Never mind. Do we need anything else?”

“Ta. Quite a bit.”

“We should minimize trips outside anyway,” Cas rumbles behind Dean. “At this point, gaining Chuck’s attention would be… inadvisable.”

“What’s he gonna do? Kill us off too?”

Crowley shares a look with Cas, because… yes. That’s exactly what he’ll do. If he only cares about Sam and Dean and forcing them to kill each other, he’s going to keep applying pressure however he can. Even, or perhaps especially, if it means blipping the rest of them out of existence to be forgotten or relegated to a blurry memory.

“We should hurry,” Crowley says instead. “And grab whatever things still need refrigeration today. This is… well, modern food preservation is still not going to be enough.”

They nod, splitting apart and heading towards the open cases of vegetables— the salad long turned, but hardier ones still exist— and meat, so they can load the Impala and Bunker’s freezer with as much as they can.

Eventually, they’ll have problems, but Crowley estimates they’ll survive until at least next spring. As long as they keep power.

* * *

Crowley takes a deep breath and a sip of his tea, rereading the page before setting his mug down with a click against the hardwood of the library table. “I’ve found it.”

“What?” Jack looks up eagerly, the only other one in the library. Crowley’s lost track of time, possible they both should have been in bed long since. “You did?”

Crowley nods, slipping a sheet of paper into the book and closing it. “It can’t be done immediately, but… yes. A few specialized ingredients and then, presto.”

“Let me see!”

Crowley shakes his head, frowning at the sudden sense of danger that’s been missing for… however long it’s been. Months, he knows for sure, but the exact date… well, time has always been a construct. He’d managed to forget just how dangerous Jack is since _it’s not Jack._

“Unless you can read ancient Sumerian, I’m afraid it won’t do you much good,” he says pacifyingly. “I should have Castiel double check my translations anyway. And while we are in a hurry, it can still wait until morning.”

“If we don’t get this done…”

“We’ll relearn how to farm. Which will be very boring for Chuck, so no doubt he’ll come up with a different problem for us to solve. Or he’ll bring back some of humanity.” Which might pose its own problems— the fewer people on the planet, the less powerful Chuck is, but even still, he’s more powerful than any of them.

But that is definitely a problem for the future.

Packing up his notes, Crowley watches Jack out of the corner of his eye. He’s frowning, shuffling papers together as he also prepares to do whatever it is he does instead of sleep. Because Crowley knows Jack doesn’t sleep much (at all?) given his own newly mortal insomnia problems.

Whatever it is that’s wearing a Jack Meatsuit, Crowley needs to figure it out quick— before this solution can be put into place. He thought that having an unknown entity as the most powerful being in the universe wouldn’t be too bad, but now… he’s pretty sure it will.

He’s had enough of Gods and everything else. Time to find a new way to order the multiverse.

* * *

“What’s on your mind?” Dean demands. They’re deep in the Bunker, towards the parts they’ve never explored before and at least five levels below ground. Crowley rather expects one of these doors to just… open into the throne room of Hell. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve found down here.

(They’re also far beyond what he believes the original floor plan included, the corridors and rooms branching almost organically and he does _not_ want to think about what it means if the Bunker is _growing_.)

“Jack,” Crowley answers finally, checking a door— a forest beyond it, unsettlingly close to being Earth, but the light isn’t right— and moving on. “When Billie brought him back from the Empty—“

“Did you see something? Before you came back?” Dean asks. Maybe this won’t be as hard of a sell as he thought.

“Billie and the Empty arguing over something. Someone. Since only you towering piles of flannel would manage to piss off both of them, I assume it’s related.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, looking at Crowley significantly. And yes, he’s wearing more discount store denim and flannel these days, but still. It’s the principle. “I see no reason to require dry cleaning when there is no one who will appreciate the effort.”

Dean mutters something, well under his breath, before opening another door. “Bingo.”

Crowley nods, looking at the pebbled beach inside and shuddering. Purgatory barely seemed like a good idea when he was newly sitting on the throne and desperate for enough power to keep it. Now? Mortal and finally done with Hell’s bullshit? This seems like an even worse idea than usual.

All the same, he meets Dean’s eyes when he looks over and nods, pulling his stolen angel blade out of his pocket.

“So much easier,” Dean breathes as they step through the doorway. “Last time we needed Michael and it was just…” he trails off, jaw clenched. Something he doesn’t want to think about then. “It got messy, quick. Leviathan blossoms, and hopefully nothing gets in our way this time.”

The beach and surrounding forest are silent, more silent than a grave. Dean moves quickly, all the softness discarded like a suit that is no longer needed. It’s rare that he is so fully in his element, a hunter in a land of monsters, and beautiful. Crowley follows carefully in his wake, content to let Dean take the dubious pleasure of going first and gaining any unwelcome attention.

They see no one, hear no one. Purgatory is as empty as Earth, which doesn’t fill Crowley with confidence about Heaven or Hell either. None of that is their problem, however, not yet.

“Stay at the tree line,” Dean orders as they approach a burned out clearing, piles of rotting flesh steaming in the cold. “Fuck knows how else Eve has boobytrapped this thing.”

“And you think I’ll be safer in the trees?”

“I don’t want you or Cas anywhere near this. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I can’t— We can’t fuck around on this one. Can’t afford to lose anyone.”

That’s not what he had originally planned to say, but there are so many things that could fit in the bitten off ‘I can’t.’ Taking a deep breath, Crowley nods, scanning the edges of the trees for any movement while Dean edges towards the mess.

Time is a construct: if asked, Crowley would swear they were in that clearing for both hours and the blink of an eye. Dean grabs a couple of fleshy flowers and hotfoots it back to the relative safety of the tree line and then they’re moving back towards their exit.

“So, Jack,” Dean starts casually. “You never finished.”

Crowley shakes his head. “Billie and the Empty argued. But Billie left whoever she was there to fetch. Gone to sleep alongside just about everyone else.”

“It has to be Jack, if it’s not him…”

“I don’t know, Dean. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but Jack is dangerous.”

“He’s always been dangerous, and has gone dark side before.” Dean swallows, glancing at the cheap plastic bag they’re carrying their harvest in. “Worst case scenario: it’s another reaper or the Empty masquerading as Jack, probably intent on fucking us over?”

Crowley nods. “It hasn’t been important, but something about how he reacted when I found the spell…”

Dean nods silently, brain already churning the new information into place so he can find a solution. Crowley wishes him well of it, because he has no idea anymore. This brave new world of Chuck’s… he’s operating on less than a quarter of the information he normally does, playing catch up with three years worth of history and everything else.

“Both of those options are still better than Chuck,” Dean says finally as they approach the doorway. “And the reaper is directionless right now. I think we have to chance it. Maybe there’s a reason, or what happened isn’t what you saw.”

“Perhaps,” Crowley says doubtfully. He’ll happily pay up if Dean’s correct, but… there’s very little in his life that has been a good surprise.

Dean jerks his head towards the door, pushing Crowley through ahead of him.

* * *

“Dean, you _can’t_ carry the mark, not again. For one thing, what happens when you get killed on a hunt?”

“So what do you suggest? We have to do something.”

Crowley is getting ready to point out that there are other options when Jack looks up sharply.

“Guys, I… think I’m feeling something?”

“What?” Cas asks. “Where?”

“It doesn’t hurt like angel radio did, but… it feels like that?” Jack frowns, turning around in a circle. “I can’t… I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but it’s in that direction?”

The Winchester and Jack spring into motion, gathering weapons and gear, getting ready to head out to face… something. Even if there was room in the car, he’s not going to show up to a confrontation with a freaking angel without a lot more certainty than he has right now.

Once they’ve all come around to being on the same side, then he’ll risk it. Until then, the only angels who have ever seen much point in working with him are either dead— killed by their own— or Castiel, who barely qualifies as an angel anymore and even if he did… Cas is just as likely to be killed by another angel as Crowley is.

Besides, the spell they’re brewing needs attention every few hours, they can’t just hare off and abandon it.

He waves them off, hoping they’ll be back, and gets back to work on his own plans. A few more contingency plans never hurt anyone.

* * *

They tramp back in the next day, the three of them and a freaking archangel.

“Demon,” the angel sneers. “I rather thought my Father wiped you all out.”

“Angel,” Crowley sneers in turn. “It seems he wiped all of you out as well. Or are they all hiding with their skirts over their faces?” It’s a low blow, particularly with Cas right there, but Crowley didn’t get to where he is by allowing cowards to walk over him. No matter what the others might think.

“Enough,” Sam sighs, grabbing the beer Dean hands him. “We all know that you two hate each other. Carrying on. Chuck. Anyone got any ideas?”

Crowley keeps his mouth shut, confused—- they had a plan— but willing to let events happen around him until he can catch up. Dean brushes his shoulder, handing him a glass of whiskey with a near imperceptible shake of his head. Okay, so whatever this is… is just for show or something.

Never let it be said that he doesn’t appreciate some good showmanship.

Cas stands too close while Michael rants and spills his sob story— whatever Chuck did, it took Adam with it apparently— and brushes Crowley’s back with his hand occasionally, comfort when Michael’s jabs about Hell grow too pointed.

It's strange. It hurts, Crowley won’t deny it, but not as much as he would have expected. Nearly a decade of learning that no matter how he feels about the place, it doesn’t feel the same way back. It never has. Security was only bought with what he could do and as soon as that ended…

Well, he’s no longer king and no longer has to feel even professionally offended by Michael’s plans to destroy all of Hell and salt the remains. Let him, there’s nothing left there to burn anyway.

Jack politely shows his uncle to the library after he’s wound down, shoving books in his face and requesting research assistance. Sam looks after them for a long moment before nodding and hurrying into the library after them.

Dean jerks his head towards the kitchen, and Crowley and Cas follow, mindlessly starting to prepare a meal while waiting for Dean to spill.

“So, Michael,” Dean starts, flipping the water on and washing his hands. “We’re not sure why Chuck left him behind, but we obviously can’t trust him. But he wasn’t going to let us leave without him either.”

“You fed him some bullshit about a plan?” Cas asks, taking the knife and a bag of carrots from the fridge. “If this is another one of your self-sacrificial—“

Dean leans over, presses a kiss to Cas’s cheek. “I heard the speech. I’m trying to do better.”

Crowley watches the absurd domesticity with something akin to envy before turning back to the head of cabbage he’s coring. Having a guest might make it worth pulling out some of their precious supply of meat, but he’d rather save it. At least until they have an idea for when this will be over.

Although if Michael is here, maybe they’re closer to the end than they thought.

“Jack’s been siphoning off… energy? Grace? No idea. Since he came back. Probably why you two are suddenly human, or _did you think I wouldn’t notice_?”

Crowley inhales sharply, trying to figure out how to respond that doesn’t sound defensive or— “That’s what happened to Jack. The Empty kept his soul or grace and now he’s trying to rebuild it.”

“Do you think he can hold it all?” Cas asks, tilting his head. “Or does he need to lose some of it?”

“I think becoming a god means giving up a lot in exchange for power.”

Cas nods, his face pensive. Because Jack is, for all intents and purposes, his son and Crowley just told him that he’s going to lose him. Permanently.

Dean blinks between them before pulling Cas in for a hug. “Do you think he knows?”

Crowley shrugs, echoed a moment later by Cas. “You know him better than I. You can tell if he’s hiding something.”

He doesn't think it will help, but both their faces clear a little, so apparently it does. Not hiding something then. So it will be as big of a surprise to Chuck and Michael as it is to Jack. Great.

“The plan,” Dean reminds himself a few minutes later. “We’re going to get Michael to release a bunch of grace for Jack to steal away. Then when he goes running to Chuck…”

“There’s a chance that they’ll be on equal terms,” Crowley finishes. He doesn't like it, but it is the plan that will work with the pieces they have. A summoning. A young man sucking energy from eating around him. A spell to transfer more power to a vessel that can contain it. Instructions for how to trap Chuck the same way he trapped Amara. It's going to be rough, but their lives always are.

He lets Cas and Dean collapse at the table while he finishes making dinner, eventually heading back to the library and Michael. He should be in there, he knows it, everyone else knows it, but he can’t bring himself to care really. Michael was always a prat.

* * *

In the end, it’s anticlimactic. They summon Chuck to an empty beach alongside one of the Great Lakes. Crowley thinks it's pretty pointless to drive that far for an epic showdown, but Sam said something about wanting to contain any potential disasters.

If this is a disaster, there won’t be any containing it. More likely, they’ll piss Chuck off so badly that none of them walk away. At least the world is dead already so no one will be around to notice. Except for maybe Heaven and Hell, but really, to hell with them. They could choose to help after all.

(Provided they exist more than Purgatory or Earth do, anyway. But charity has never gotten him anywhere, so why bother starting now?)

So they summon Chuck, let Moose and Squirrel distract him by being punching bags while Jack absorbs as much power as possible, doing his best to only drain Chuck, leaving Amara untouched. It’s a long shot for Amara, but maximization chances for success— they won’t get many.

Crowley and Cas are there purely as back up in case the Winchesters aren’t enough, but they’re not necessary.

Dean groans as he pushes himself to his feet again, refusing to stay down. He mumbles something about bands of brothers while pulling Sam up and then the switch gets flipped.

Chuck struggles to do something, but he can’t, restrained and kept quiet.

“Oh, Brother,” Amara sighs, distinct from Chuck’s voice somehow. “What have you done?” She sighs, flicking her hand. Sam and Dean fly backwards, but land on their feet, just several yards away. “One moment, I need to have a word with my brother.”

Crowley glances at Cas before they’re rushing across the rocks, supporting the Winchesters as they get their breath back.

“What’s going on?” Sam mutters. “Is she?”

“She’s subsuming Chuck,” Jack says cheerfully. “They were out of balance, she couldn’t do anything to further upset it. But once he was sufficiently weakened…”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like her. Moving in for the kill when Dean is at risk.”

Dean shrugs. “She and I… it’s complicated.”

Cas’s knuckles go white where they hold onto Dean’s coat, unnoticed by anyone else, Crowley assumes. Because of course even after they’ve gotten their shit together, the two of them would still not talk to each other.

Before he can interfere, Amara shakes all over, collapsing to her knees against the lake washed rocks. Jack is at her side before any of the rest of them can even move, carefully bringing her to her feet.

She glares down at herself, Chuck’s meatsuit somehow no longer looking like a pathetic loser, but still not the elegance she has always preferred. Frowning, she looks up at Jack before smiling softly. “Ready to get this done?”

“We can do that?”

Amara shrugs. “You can fix it. We’re… complicated.”

Complicated is not the word Crowley would use, but he’s not sure the word that actually fits the situation has been invented. Sam’s hand comes down on his shoulder, not harshly, just holding on to him, like Sam needs the support.

Jack takes a deep breath and nods, breathing out slowly. With it goes a flurry of firefly-like lights. They float upwards for a few seconds and then burst apart, clearly visible. The plants and earth around them seem to inhale in turn and then roll back, leaves appearing and rewinding back to the new leaves of mid-April, six months of growth and seasonal change reversed in the space of a couple heartbeats.

“Jack—“ Cas whispers.

“I can fix it, Cas. All of it, bring everyone back.” His eyes glow with power, not quite the blue-white of grace, but close. He blows out another cloud of sparks and…

An airplane flies across the sky, the parallel lines of its contrail streaking white in its wake.

Well, what do you know. The kid didn’t go mad with power after all. Crowley rocks back on his heels, watching as the other three pull Jack into tearful hugs, thanking him.

Amara steps around them to stand next to Crowley. “We can send you back, if you want. The Empty doesn’t—“

“No. Someone has to keep this lot in line.”

“And you want to try living again.”

Crowley doesn’t have a response to that. It’s true, but he doesn’t have to admit it. Apparently sleeping for three years has given him some clarity.

Wordlessly, Amara nods and steps away, offering her hand to Jack. They dissolve into sparks of light, dissipating into the spring sunshine.

Crowley rolls his eyes as the others’ faces fall. “Cheer up boys, I’m sure he’ll be back for Sunday dinner or something soon enough.”

Dean looks more convinced at the prospect than the other two, but he’s gotten the feeling that while Jack is their kid, he’s really Sam and Cas’s kid— Dean’s just along for the ride. There’s nothing specific about it, but he suspects… Well, Dean’s grief is a heavy thing for anyone to bear, let alone a child.

“Come on,” Dean says finally, still staring after Jack and Amara. “Let's go home.”

* * *

It’s not that the backwoods highways on the way back to the Bunker are full— they’re not, no one without lots of time on their hands takes the old highway system— but they _see other cars._ After six months, it’s astonishing, even from the backseat of the Impala, listening to Sam and Dean bicker while Cas rolls his eyes beside him.

They’re most of the way there, a bit north of the state line and passing through what passes as a town in these parts, when Sam jerks his thumb for Dean to make a left. “Can you— Eileen.”

Dean glances over and grins, “Think she’ll forgive you for stealing her car?”

“I’m kinda hoping Jack put it back too,” Sam says sheepishly. “Or she won’t notice.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “You think she won’t notice? That her car is missing? In this public transit forsaken shithole?”

“It’s not a shithole, Crowley,” Sam snaps. “It's just… small.”

“Where’s the nearest gay bar, Moose?”

“Lincoln. Or Manhattan, depending on how you drive,” Dean blurts out, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “They’re not that far away.”

“About two hours,” Cas translates, which really, makes Crowley’s point for him.

They roll to a stop outside an old brick hotel, built around the same time as the railroad rolled through and probably refurbished into apartments shortly thereafter. Sam nearly falls out of the car in his rush, tripping up the stairs to the door.

Dean watches him go before twisting around to face Crowley and Cas. “Okay, handsomes. Back to the Bunker or…?”

“I need at least a change of clothes before we go gallivanting around the country,” Cas points out. “And I imagine Crowley would like the same.”

Crowley glances down, plucking at the sweatshirt he’s wearing over discount jeans. It’s the most comfortable he’s been in ages. Taking a deep breath, he commits. “I’d prefer a shopping trip— two pairs of jeans isn’t really sufficient if we’re hunting.”

Dean frowns, and Crowley starts to wonder if he overstepped, before Dean sighs. “I suppose monsters will be back too. Alright. Stop by the Bunker for supplies and then we’re on a hunting trip.” He pauses, looking out the passenger window at Eileen’s building. “Right. One of you get your ass up here, I’m not your damn driver.”

“Home, please, driver,” Crowley says archly as Cas scrambles into the passenger seat. “And don’t spare the horses— I’m assured this beast can take it.”

Dean half-heartedly glares in the rearview mirror before giving up and grinning wildly. “In that case, Miss Daisy, find us a hunt. Someplace close to home though, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you two aren’t fully up to speed.”

“I wasn’t—” Cas starts, looking stricken as Dean stretches a hand across the front seat. “We had enough things to worry about. Falling was the least of our worries.”

“Crowley?”

Of course. He can’t just leave things alone. He shrugs, avoiding Dean’s glare and watching a family walk along the sidewalk on the other side of the road— heading towards downtown and dinner, he would guess. “I wasn’t aware that I answered to you.”

“Hey.”

“I don’t know,” Crowley snaps. “All the demon shit, it’s gone. Has been for ages. I’m perfectly aware that I’m unneeded without it.” Or at all, but he doesn’t see much reason to admit that as well. He’s not particularly into humiliation and continuing this conversation will just feed into that and… no. Better to just stay long enough to get his things and then disappear. He can always work his way back to the top.

Again.

He stills the sigh that wants to come out before it does more than move his chest. “Do you want to hunt or—”

“Shut up, jeez,” Dean says quietly. “I’m not going to kick you out because you’re human. Either of you. You really think I would do that?”

Since Crowley knows perfectly well that he’s done it before, to _Cas_ , who at least has the dubious distinction of being Dean’s favorite after Sam, he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even have that going for him, just six weeks of being demons together and a decade of quasi-allyship.

He fully expects to be tossed out on his ass now that they don’t need him around without his powers.

“Well, I’m not,” Dean huffs, throwing the car in drive and pulling away from the curb. “Not happening. For either of you. We’re in this to the end now.”

Crowley nods doubtfully and pulls out his phone. “Right. A hunt. Any particular flavors you’re into, your highness?”

Dean shakes his head, focusing on the road. “Local.”

Cas tilts his head, twisting in his seat to watch Crowley. “There were vampires in Ohio, I believe. If you want someplace to start.”

Crowley shivers despite the bright sunshine and shakes his head. “Scarcely local though, Feathers.” Bending over his phone, he waits impatiently for things to load— fucking signal wasteland out here— and thumbs through a few options. “Hippocampi in the Kansas River?”

Dean blows out a breath. “Sure. Could be fun, if a bit chilly. Cas, you okay with that?”

Cas nods. “I’ve always been fond of hippos. Rounded curves and shadowy crevices.”

Crowley blinks, unsure how to respond to that… “Are you quoting something? And do I want to know what?”

“I definitely want to know what,” Dean adds. “And once we have that explained, someone needs to go over the lore for Hippocamps. They don’t normally come into fresh water.”

Cas nods, apparently ordering his thoughts as Dean turns back onto the highway. “A poem, written before Rome. Or perhaps a particularly convoluted ritual to summon Taweret, it’s unclear even now.” The explanation lasts for the rest of the drive back to the Bunker. And then it’s packing up and heading further south.

This will be Crowley’s life now, he thinks. And he’s comfortable with that.

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognize it, it doesn't belong to me. And yes, that *is* a hippofucker reference; no, I will not be taking questions at this time.


End file.
